So firmly fond

May last the bond

They wove that morn together,
And ne'er may fall

One drop of gall

On Wit's celestial feather!

May Love us twine

His flowers divine,

Of thorny falsehood weed 'em!

May Valour ne'er

His standard rear

Against the cause of Freedom!

Oh the shamrock, the green, immortal shamrock! Chosen leaf

Of bard and chief,

Old Erin's native shamrock!

At the mid hour of night.

Air-Molly, my dear.

At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly To the lone vale we lov'd when life shone warm in

thine eye;

And I think that, if spirits can steal from the region of air

To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to

me there,

And tell me our love is remember'd e'en in the sky!

Then I sing the wild song, which once 'twas rapture to hear,

When our voices, both mingling, breath'd like one on the ear;

And, as Echo far off thro' the vale my sad orison rolls, I think, oh my love! 'tis thy voice from the kingdom of souls, 41.

Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear!

'One bumper at parting.

Air-Moll Roe in the Morning.

One bumper at parting!-though many
Have circled the board since we met,
The fullest, the saddest of any
Remains to be crown'd by us yet.
The sweetness that pleasure has in it,
Is always so slow to come forth,
That seldom, alas, till the minute

It dies, do we know half its worth!
But oh! may our life's happy measure
Be all of such moments made up;
They're born on the bosom of Pleasure,
They die midst the tears of the cup.

As onward we journey, how pleasant
To pause and inhabit a while

Those few sunny spots, like the present,

That 'mid the dull wilderness smile!

But Time, like a pitiless master,

Cries" onward!" and spurs the gay hours

Ah! never does Time travel faster

Than when his way lies among flowers. But, come-may our life's happy measure Be all of such moments made up, They're born on the bosom of Pleasure, They die midst the tears of the cup.

How brilliant the sun look'd in sinking!
The waters beneath him how bright!
Oh! trust me, the farewell of drinking
Should be like the farewell of light.
You saw how he finish'd, by darting

His beams o'er a deep billow's brim—
So fill up, let's shine at our parting,
In full liquid glory, like him.
And oh! may our life's happy measure
Of moments like this be made up;
"Twas born on the bosom of Pleasure,
It dies 'mid the tears of the cup!

'Tis the last rose of summer.

Air-Groves of Blarney.

'Tis the last rose of summer,

Left blooming alone;

All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone;

No flower of her kindred,

No rose-bud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh!

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,

Go, sleep thou with them;
Thus kindly I scatter

Thy leaves o'er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,

When friendships decay,
And from love's shining circle

The gems drop away!
When true hearts lie wither'd,
And fond ones are flown,

Oh! who would inhabit

This bleak world alone?

The young May moon.

Air-The Dandy, O.

The young May moon is beaming, love,

The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love,

How sweet to rove

Through Morna's grove,42

While the drowsy world is dreaming, love,
Then awake!-The heavens look bright, my dear!
'Tis never too late for delight, my dear!
And the best of all ways

To lengthen our days

Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!

Now all the world is sleeping, love,
But the sage, his star-watch keeping, love,
And I, whose star,

More glorious far,

Is the eye from that casement peeping, love.
Then awake, till rise of sun, my dear!
The sage's glass we'll shun, my dear,
Or, in watching the flight

Of bodies of light,

He might happen to take thee for one, my dear!

The Minstrel Boy.

Air-The Moreen.

The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you'll find him
His father's sword he has girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him.